


Let Our Epilogue Be Soft And Sweet

by Tenoko1



Series: Bless Your Wings verse [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caregiving, Cuddling, Fluff, Found Family, Gabriel's a dick pt. 2, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), They're so so soft, or pt 3.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 21:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: Crowley hit his palm against the steering wheel. “Of course I’d get upset, angel! Those bastards have tried to kill you twice, Aziraphale!Twice! I spend every damn day worried they might try again! Now--Now-- your conveniently found and rescued angel is on the loose,” the road forked, and they veered off to a smaller country road, flying past a sign Aziraphale didn’t need to see to recognize, though Crowley gestured wildly to it, “in a god-forsaken national park? Well outside of London where no one can hear you scream? This mystery angel thatjust so happensto be leaking grace and emoting a distress signal so loud you can still sense it?” Crowley dragged a hand down his face. “Angel,sweetheart. Wake up and smell thetrap.”





	Let Our Epilogue Be Soft And Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katiegangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiegangel/gifts).

> Fic included introduction of an original character named Ariel.
> 
> Ariel is derived from ‘Arael’ pronounced “Arr-ee-el”, like Sebastian says it in The Little Mermaid. In Hebrew, it means “Lion of God”.
> 
> Ariel was initially a creation of katiegangel (gabrielsangel44 on Twitter), but after much back and forth fleshing her out, became a sort of co-creation, though first and foremost belonging to her and, thus, used with permission. I just helped.

“Crowley, please pay attention to the road!” Aziraphale exclaimed, arms and legs flailing to brace himself as they took a narrow curve at some ninety miles per hour. “If you get either of us discorporated, I can promise you Heaven and Hell will make us wish we died instead.”

“That’s the_ blessed point_, angel!” He waved wildly to encompass the road. “You_ just so happened_ to hear an angel crying out for help, and_ just so happened_ to be close enough to come to her aid? _You_? The rogue angel Heaven’s excommunicated? That doesn’t strike you as the _tiniest bit_ suspicious?”

“Dear--”

Crowley had his glasses shoved up on his head, his hair looking as wild as his eyes. “So this angel you _conveniently _found--”

“She _did _call out to all angels for help--”

“How nice you—_ and only you_— showed up, innit? This poor ‘tortured’ angel--”

Aziraphale glared, expression going dark. “_I _brought her to the shop and wrapped her injuries. She _was _tortured.”

“Yet seemingly well enough to get up and walk out of the shop-- under her own power and right under your nose!”

“I didn’t expect her to wake up in the _middle of the night_ and _run away_!”

“During which, _at no point_, did you call _me_!”

“I knew you were coming home in the morning! Which you did! And I knew you would only get upset—“

Crowley hit his palm against the steering wheel. “_Of course I’d get upset, angel_! Those bastards have tried to kill you twice, Aziraphale! _Twice_! I spend _every damn day_ worried they might try again! Now-- _Now_\-- your conveniently found and rescued angel is on the loose,” the road forked, and they veered off to a smaller country road, flying past a sign Aziraphale didn’t need to see to recognize, though Crowley gestured wildly to it, “in a god-forsaken national park? This mystery angel that just so happens to be leaking grace and emoting a distress signal so loud you can still sense it?” Crowley dragged a hand down his face. “Angel, _sweetheart_. Wake up and smell the _trap_.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear, because we both know cruelty and torture are things Heaven would never stoop to. And they would never do something so heinous to one of their own.”

“Okay, fine. _Fine_. I’ll give you that, but! Say she _was _handed over to demons, _why_? Surely she must have done _something _horrible for them to hand her over. You and I committed treason by trying to save the world, but I didn’t see _another _angel there lending a wing. So what’s _her _unforgivable sin?”

“I don’t _know _what she did,” Aziraphale snapped. “I only know who did it to her and that she is now somewhere out there, _alone _and _hurt _and _frightened_!”

Crowley remembered Eden. Aziraphale standing on the wall, worrying. Twisting himself into knots wanting to protect humans he barely knew; shielding his demonic enemy from the rain.

Crowley couldn’t say he was surprised they’d come full circle. It was that trait, the way he cared to the point of recklessness, that first drew him to Aziraphale, made him go from small talk to genuine intrigue.

_‘Didn’t you have a flaming sword?’_

_‘I gave it away!’_

_‘You _what_?’_ Crowley had said, when what he meant was, _‘Oh, I like this one. I want to keep him.’_

“Fine, angels turning on their own without good reason isn’t new, but! You said she was handed over to the demons you rescued her from, right?” he asked, pulling the Bently to a stop near a trailhead. “If you don’t know _why _it was done, then _who _would do something so callous and cruel? That’s something I’d expect from demons. Or humans.”

Aziraphale’s expression darkened, head turning. “_Who_ do you _think_?”

Crowley swore, then heaved a sigh, his anger receding like the tide.

Aziraphale in gold shackles and bound to an altar was seared in Crowley’s memory like an angry red scar. It made him jerk to sitting in the middle of the night, a ravaged scream tearing from his throat.

Because in dreams, he was always too late.

Aziraphale’s bloody, mutilated wings lay discarded, while his beloved angel remained chained where he was, face toward Crowley, final tears and light slipping from his eyes.

But then, Aziraphale-- alive and breathing and whole-- was always right there, wrapping him in his arms, murmuring softly as Crowley shook, fingers scrambling for purchase and grasping at the angel.

Stomach turning sourly, Crowley bolted from the car.

He paced the length of the vehicle, fingers raking through his hair before heaving an explosive sigh, already regretting it. “Alright, _fine_. Let’s go find her.” He waved an arm toward the trailhead surrounded by lush foliage and greenery. “Lead on. You’re the one who can sense her. I can’t.”

Aziraphale’s mouth pursed, head cocked to one side. “I should think, as a demon, you’d be able to sense her pain and despair.” Crowley flinched, and tentative fingers touched his hand. “That wasn’t a barb, darling, just an observation given our different natures and abilities.”

Crowley followed after him as the image of mirrors and wings flooded his mind. “I’m not sure _what _we are anymore, or if those rules still apply.” His eyes were the same, after all. The mark of a snake was still on his skin. “And I _could _sense it, but I keep a lid on that box. You’d think a demon would _delight _in hearing the misery of the world, all that anguish, the weaknesses to exploit, so loud it drowns out everything else, every emotion or colour from the world until it’s just… And if you do give into that eternal damnation and hatred your lot say we’re made of… it changes you. That’s what warps you into something sick and twisted, angel. It’s not the Fall. It’s who you choose to be _after_.”

Crowley lost the ability to sense love in the world around him like Aziraphale could, to feel the warmth of Heaven or the goodness in people. Someone help him if he could only feel the pain, anger, and desolation in the world, every dark impulse or twisted desire.

It was no wonder angels had mutated into demons so quickly after being cast down, their every negative emotion feeding into each other and spreading like a fire that was out of control.

Crowley had questioned what it meant to be an angel, had questioned the _fairness _in God creating humanity only to test them. He’d questioned if that applied to the host of Heaven, and if so, what was the point of any of it?

And maybe he’d failed his test by wanting to understand Her ways. He wasn’t perfect. She should have known that; She made him, after all. And Crowley may have been one of the Fallen, and he may be a demon, but he never wanted to become a monster.

Soft fingers slid across Crowley’s palm, folding his hand into Aziraphale’s. Their eyes met, and Aziraphale smiled. “Follow me.”

Crowley squeezed his hand, heart tight in his chest. “Anywhere, angel.”

* * *

It took them an hour of walking before they found her.

They passed from hard-packed dirt paths to the soft, mulch covered earth that gave slightly beneath their weight. The forest floor was carpeted with ferns and moss growing wild, the trees more condensed the closer they got to the stream.

Any other day, Crowley would have found the spot ideal. As a snake, he could nap on the sun-warmed stones, lulled to sleep by the bubble and gurgle of the water, the birdsong overhead. And when he got too warm, there were moss-covered rocks and logs in the cool shade where he could drift off to sleep.

“Why would she come out here?” Crowley wondered.

It was beautiful, but not where he would flee to.

Granted, Crowley would always run straight to Aziraphale before doing anything, take him by the hand and make like a bat out of Hell away from danger. If Crowley were on the run or hiding, he’d want sturdy walls, exits he could watch. Metal doors and locks. There would be a worrying stockpile of weapons.

But in a forest by a stream?

‘Peaceful’ was not the same as ‘safe.’

Crowley looked at Aziraphale when the angel stopped. “Do you even know her name?”

Lashes lowered, Aziraphale shook his head. “She was delirious when I found her. Lots of half prayers and pleas. Apologies.” His expression hardened, eyes sweeping the area again. “Gabriel’s name.” He raised his free hand to his mouth. “Hello?”

Stomach twisting and sinking, Crowley’s shoulders hunched as he scanned their surroundings.

It felt too much like a trap. The perfect bait to draw Aziraphale into danger, and now, here they were drawing attention to their location like a particularly friendly bulls-eye.

Crowley tugged Aziraphale’s hand toward the trail. “Angel, I don’t like this. It feels like a set-up.”

The worry lines on Aziraphale’s face softened, and he turned, one hand cupping Crowley’s cheek. “Darling, did you or did you _not _threaten to burn Heaven to the ground if Above or Below ever came near us?”

“Yes, but--”

“And if they would torture _me _for protecting God’s creation, do you not think they would unjustly punish _another _angel, as well?”

“I’m not worried about protecting _another angel_, Aziraphale. I don’t want them to get their claws in _you_.”

“Good thing you’re with me, then, isn’t it?”

Crowley swallowed further protests, the instinct and fear screaming to grab the angel and run. He made himself stay.

Because Aziraphale being the only angel to come to her rescue may have been Crowley’s fault.

_He _had threatened to raze Heaven to the ground. And _he’d _promised to destroy any angel or demon to ever come near Aziraphale again.

As far as Crowley knew, Heaven had taken his threat to heart. Demons, too, had given them a wide berth.

Which meant if--_ a strong if_\-- any angels were willing to come to her aid… it might have been Crowley’s threat that stopped them.

Also, he had to admit it was just the sort of calculated and cruel ploy Gabriel would implement. Drop her in the one place no one would dare go.

Crowley growled low in his throat, capturing Aziraphale’s hand and turning his head to press a kiss to the delicate skin of the angel’s wrist while holding his gaze.

“If I ever see Gabriel again, I’m gonna rip his wings from his back,” he swore, watching pink flood Aziraphale’s face. He pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s palm before letting go with a sigh, head swivelling to scan the treeline on the opposite shore. “Hello?”

Aziraphale called out placating assurances they only wanted to help.

If the situation were reversed, Crowley would stay in his hiding spot, teeth bared and ready to strike, until his pursuant gave up.

Then again, watching Aziraphale’s earnest and unwavering compassion, if someone like Aziraphale were trying to find him, Crowley didn’t think even he could resist letting down his guard and allowing the angel to help.

“You’re scaring the animals,” a soft voice said.

They pivoted to find her standing on the trail as if having sprouted from like a flower from the earth.

Crowley staggered back, jaw dropping as his brain just… stopped functioning. “You!”

She stood there, slight in frame and stature, her wavy blonde hair cut at an angle and longer on one side. She looked so young and small wrapped in her oversized white hoodie and tight jeans. Her simple white shoes were in sharp contrast with the rich brown beneath her feet.

Startled green eyes blinked at him, her hands coming out of her hoodie pocket. She stepped away, ready to take off like a frightened rabbit. “I… _you_?”

Aziraphale’s mouth wilted at the corners. He showed his open palms. “Please don’t be afraid or run. We only want to help.” Her eyes, green as the forest, flicked to Aziraphale, then back to Crowley. The angel tried again. “What’s your name?”

“Ariel,” Crowley rasped. Aziraphale looked at him. “Her name is Ariel.”

Something moved, lightening quick, twisting down her arm and to her hand, before she was standing there with a beautifully ornate white spear. It was elaborately decorated with wings and shimmering crystals, and resonating with such power it was unlike any celestial weapon either of them had seen. It made Crowley’s eyes sting and water to look directly at it.

Ariel’s face shifted from shock into sharp lines and bared teeth, tears welling in her eyes. “Raphael, _where have you been_? I looked _everywhere _for you!”

The babble of the stream and birds seemed incongruous for the tension ready to shatter him. Crowley distantly noted she had an American accent, and he wondered if that was why they hadn’t run into each other before.

She looked the same, but the Ariel he remembered never made such an expression. Millenia ago, she’d sat in rapt awe, watching him weave galaxies and paint the constellations.

Crowley held up his hands. “Ariel, look--” he faltered. “Wait. You _recognize _me??”

She pointed the spearhead at him. “You were _kind_. Treated me like I _mattered_. _Why wouldn’t_ I recognize you?”

Taking a step between them, hands extended, Aziraphale offered, “We... can come back to that later, but your injuries are too severe to be on your own. Don’t be afraid, please.”

She seemed to finally register Aziraphale, then, blinking and jostling tears from their precarious perch on her lashes. Ariel squinted, taking him in from head-to-toe. “...You’re the one who helped me.”

He nodded. “Yes. And I would like to _continue _helping you--”

“No.”

“Dear, you _must _have bled through your bandages already. Injuries from demonic blades don’t _heal _like normal injuries. And yours were...” he blanched and choked at the memory.

“Which is why I went to a hospital,” she said, voice soft but defiant. “And I can miracle on clean bandages and medicine. I can even miracle away all the stitches once it heals.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s gaze drop. “And your wings?”

More tears welled in her eyes and spilt over, the hand holding the spear trembling.

“They’re ruined. You can’t fix that.” Tears dripped off her chin, voice cracked and uneven, “No one can.”

Crowley licked his bottom lip; hands raised to not spook her. “Ariel, look… we _do _want to help. I know angels and demons are the last people-- _beings_\-- you would want to trust, but you have to believe us.”

“_Believe you?_” she demanded. “I don’t even _know _you! Raphael, it has been _more than six thousand years _since I last saw you. You went _missing_, and_ I couldn’t find you_! _Nobody _even knew who I was talking about, said there _was _no Archangel Raphael. It was _God _who had to tell me you fell. Of _all _the angels to possibly fall, I never thought... You were too _good_. You were _patient _and let me be _curious_.” Her lip trembled, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “And I missed you _so much_.”

“Then come back with us,” he pleaded. “Aziraphale can look after your injuries, and you and I can talk. I’ll explain. Answer... _whatever _you want to know. _Anything _you want, just… come with us.”

She held the spear defensively in front of her, like a shield keeping them at bay. “What I want is for you to leave.”

“Kid, please--”

“_Now_, Raphael,” she ordered.

Her knuckles were bone-white where she gripped the spear, arms trembling the slightest from the effort of keeping it steady when it had to pull at her injuries and stitches.

Aziraphale had tried to tell him the condition he’d found her in, but Crowley had been so focused on the _trap_, what _had _to be _bait_, he hadn’t _listened_, hadn’t…

Swallowing, he nodded and took a careful step. “Come on, angel.”

“Y-yes, but--!” Aziraphale looked back and forth, clearly torn, before reluctantly joining Crowley. He turned. “If you need… _anything_, I own the bookshop in Soho. Where I took you. You can usually find us there. Or St. James Park.”

Heedless of the tear tracks on her face, Ariel inclined her head. “Thank you. For saving me.”

When Aziraphale reached his side, biting his lip and fretting with his fingers, Crowley smoothed a hand over his back and offered a smile that was forced and thin as they started the trek back to the car.

Crowley had a thought and turned his head. “And it’s ‘Crowley,’” he called back. There was silence, and he looked to see her unarmed and looking small again, head tilted. It hurt so much to walk away. “My _name_. It’s Crowley now.”

She said nothing, just lowered her eyes.

Crowley gently took Aziraphale’s elbow and guided him away.

* * *

The tension in the car on the way home was grievous and tight and suffocating to the point where Crowley wanted to pull over so he could get out and scream until his voice gave.

Aziraphale kept rubbing his sleeve, an awkward, self-comforting gesture to pair with all the stolen glances, the way he kept opening his mouth only to close it and look away.

Crowley didn’t know who he was more angry with.

God for not having stepped in to do something?

Gabriel, the smarmy buttplug in a suit that he was, for being responsible for this?

Or himself.

If he hadn’t threatened Heaven and Hell as he did…

But if he _hadn’t_, angels or demons might still be after Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t know which was worse: that he might be responsible or that he’d make the same threat again-- and mean it just as much-- if it would protect Aziraphale.

_Kind_, Aziraphale and Ariel had both called him.

He _wasn’t _kind.

He was a failure and a disappointment.

His one remaining hope was that he wouldn’t fail Aziraphale.

Shifting, Aziraphale cleared his throat, pads of his fingers sliding across the seat to touch Crowley’s hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Nodding, Aziraphale scooted closer on the bench and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

It was quiet the rest of the drive home, the silence filled with all the wordless prayers Crowley sent up: that he not fail another person he cared about, that he not lose Aziraphale, too— and that whatever happened next, Ariel would be safe.

* * *

Through unspoken agreement, they ended up in Aziraphale’s flat.

It was a pattern Crowley had noticed.

When anxious and worried about Heaven or Hell, they ended up at Crowley’s flat.

But Aziraphale’s was where they went when they needed comfort, the feeling of safety that only came from the place you considered home.

Both were equally protected, of course, but they’d fallen into the pattern, nonetheless.

In the aftermath of Gabriel’s actions, Aziraphale and Crowley had begun to sort of… cohabitate. A renegotiation of their relationship and space and comfort levels.

They had six thousand years' worth of repression, habit, and denial to overcome. So much so the transition from friends to… something more had been a bit awkward at times. Rearranging blocks into a new pattern, turning and twisting them until they figured out how the blocks went so they fit together as they should.

_Dating_, Aziraphale had called it.

Crowley had nearly laughed. The word sounded so ridiculous, even more so trying to reconcile the idea with a pair of immortal beings.

There would _never _be anyone for Crowley but Aziraphale. There _had never been _anyone he felt this way for except Aziraphale. To add to that, they were thousands of years old… and neither of them had _any _dating experience.

Whatever cosmic joke She was playing at, it was enough to have him near giggles.

They went slow; a cautious dance around one another and the idea they could have this. They _could _touch one another out in public and not be afraid, but it didn’t mean they knew _how_. Even chaste affection in private had been a struggle.

The pull between them was as strong as ever, but thousands of years of living in fear, and then suddenly free to do as they wished?

It felt like a trap.

A_ blatantly obvious_ trap, with a large sign and dangling bait.

Oh, but the prize was tempting. Tempting enough to make them hope. To make them dare.

So, they circled each other, trying to find how they fit-- while holding their breath waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Ready to spring into action if it would save the other.

Ready to throw themselves apart from one another and keep their distance.

It still felt a lot like being a puppet on a string.

Crowley would say they’d become a touch codependent, still shaken from nearly losing each other, coupled with the knowledge and unabating fear they _still could_ lose each other.

They shared a bed regardless of whose flat they were in, though sleep was all they did. More often, it was Crowley that slept, pressing himself to Aziraphale’s hips and leg, holding on, while Aziraphale sat against the headboard and read, his free hand brushing through Crowley’s red locks.

The ordeal with Gabriel and the angels did not help matters.

Crowley had nightmares at home, and battled constant paranoia when they were in public, uncomfortable and twitching like spiders were squirming and crawling under his skin. When he had to leave Aziraphale’s side for business and other matters, he checked in frequently via text messages.

Aziraphale had panic attacks when he was awake, and he ended up trapped in a nightmare if he slept. He’d always been what the humans called a ‘homebody,’ but now Crowley didn’t think he ever left the flat or shop unless Crowley was with him.

Being the Serpent of Eden, Crowley was clingy and tactile by nature, but it wasn’t something he’d expected from Aziraphale-- contented with books for company like he was. But now that he had permission, Aziraphale was quick to invade Crowley’s space and wrapping him in a hug.

In those moments, Crowley was never sure if Aziraphale was offering comfort or asking for it, so he held on until Aziraphale let go first.

Now, as they stepped into the welcoming comfort of the angel’s flat, shoes discarded by the door, Crowley removed his glasses and set them on the marble countertop of the island so he could pinch the bridge of his nose.

Demons could get headaches, of course. They could quickly-- depending on how sober they were-- get rid of them, too. But Crowley didn’t miracle this one away. He let it pull tight in his neck and across his shoulders, allowed it to throb like a bass line at the back of his skull.

Existence could be so complicated and exhausting. There were so many tangled up knots he didn’t know how to unravel.

Fingers trailed over Crowley’s shoulders as Aziraphale came behind him, helping him from his coat with a soft kiss and an even sweeter smile.

When Crowley’s coat was on the hook by the door, Aziraphale returned, hand on the small of Crowley’s back, a quiet drag of material against the skin of his palm as Aziraphale moved in front of him, fingers reaching for the buttons of his vest.

Heart hammering, Crowley swallowed hard as Aziraphale helped him out of it, as well, leaving him dressed only in his jeans and t-shirt.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale was not as meticulous with his own clothing, a snap of fingers leaving coat, vest, and tie neatly folded on one of the barstools.

When Aziraphale reached up, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, Crowley stopped breathing. He might have been at risk of discorporating right then and there were there any heat to the angel’s expression, but even still. It was a close thing.

“Aziraphale, what are you doing?” he rasped, heart too loud in his ears.

Taking his hand, Aziraphale led him toward the living room and sectional sofa. “Come,” he coaxed. “Let me hold you.”

True to his word, they ended up together on the couch, Aziraphale’s head on the armrest and pillows, with Crowley slotted between him and the back of the couch, the throw blanket draped over them and pulled up around Crowley’s shoulders.

Crowley rested his head on the angel’s chest, thin fingers curled in Aziraphale’s shirt. The steady rhythm of Aziraphale’s heartbeat and breathing, the reminder he was right there and this was real, had the tightness of Crowley’s muscles unwinding, had his eyes drifting shut as he let himself sink into the solace of home.

Crowley didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but he knew he couldn’t live a day without it, would do something desperate and unfathomable to keep it.

Turning his head, Crowley hid his face in Aziraphale shirt, eyes clamped shut and gritting his teeth as he fought back the shame that reared its head. “...I love you… angel.”

Aziraphale stiffened.

Crowley nearly panicked, nearly threw himself backwards babbling apologies for having said the forbidden out loud, but then Aziraphale melted beneath him, the arm curled around Crowley hugging him firmly to his body.

Aziraphale brushed his lips against Crowley’s hair. “And I you, beloved.”

Clutching at the soft material, Crowley tried to muffle a choked off noise, wet and disbelieving, as he fought back the urge to sob. He was raw, shaking from relief and pain and silent pleas God would never take this away from him. He could not survive heaven being ripped away from him twice.

Crowley did not think he prayed to God as an angel half as much as he did now.

Aziraphale soothed him, a hand running over his hair and down his arm. He left soft butterfly kisses across Crowley’s brow and hair wherever he could reach. “Rest, darling.” He took Crowley’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, promising, “I’m right here.”

* * *

Crowley let out a blissful sigh as he sank into the fragrant hot bathwater, the white-tile bathroom already filled with steam. The plants on the inset shelves of the wall preened. The ivy in the windowsill next to the claw-footed bathtub puffed up its leaves and resettled like a brooding hen.

He’d changed form per Aziraphale’s request-- it had been odd and specific enough Crowley was happy to indulge him.

Well, Aziraphale hadn’t asked him to change _form_, per se.

When Crowley returned earlier from tending the plants at his flat, Aziraphale had already prepared the bath for him, fragrant oils and flower petals skimming the surface.

Aziraphale’s somewhat timid inquiry was if Crowley wouldn’t mind having his hair _long _for the occasion.

Resting against the pillow, long curls of his hair twisted and clipped in place on his head, Crowley thought of Egypt and Japan. Living in London, he’d stopped needing to change between forms for missions. Bathing had not had the same cultural significance in England as it had in other countries and cultures, and without easy access to hot water, had not gained popularity until centuries later.

Now, the only time Crowley shifted to his female form was in the summer, the comfort and ease of sun dresses and barely-there clothing. Days when he could lay out on the beach soaking up the sun in black swimwear, while the tally of sins went up all around him without having to try.

Crowley’s lips curled in a slow smile. He’d missed a luxurious bath for the simple pleasure of it.

There was a knock, and then Aziraphale poked his head around the door. “Comfortable?”

“Very,” Crowley purred.

“May I come in?”

A low, throaty chuckle escaped him. “Are you the David to my _Bath_sheba, sweetheart?”

Aziraphale tutted, then disappeared before entering, pushing a small cart.

Crowley sat up, arms folded over the edge of the white porcelain, spluttering a laugh as he took in the chilled wine bottle and glass, the wicker basket of hair products.

“Angel, what in the _world_\--?”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. A cushioned stool appeared at the head of the tub as he set about opening and pouring a glass of wine.

“I hope you don’t think me theatrical,” he said, tone modest as he offered the wine glass to Crowley.

Tipping the drink to his lips, Crowley looked up from beneath dark lashes with a slow smile. “Oh, _angel_, I am _all for _theatrics.” He tipped his head, watching Aziraphale blush beautifully. There was nothing in the world Crowley could want for. His smile turned soft. “What are you up to?”

Fighting back a smile and failing so miserably as to be adorable, Aziraphale clasped his hands together. “Pampering.”

“_Pampering_?”

Aziraphale gestured to the stool he’d conjured, which would put him directly out of Crowley’s sight. “May I?”

“Do as you will, Aziraphale,” chuckled Crowley, obeying the silent instruction to sit back when soft fingers touched his shoulder. Aziraphale released the clip holding Crowley’s hair, letting it fall in a cascade outside the tub. Crowley’s eyes drifted shut at the first gentle brush of fingers. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to butter me up.”

There was the snap of a cap, and a heady perfume scent joined that of the bath as Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, his touches reverent.

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for _aeons_,” Aziraphale confessed, a softness to his eyes and lips as he worked conditioning oils into Crowley’s hair from root-to-tip. “You’re always beautiful--”

“_Stop_.”

“--but I have been fascinated with the idea of tending to your hair for longer than I can account for.” Crowley’s eyes snapped open as Aziraphale chuckled. “I even learned how to braid because of it.”

Sinking lower in the water as he felt himself blush, Crowley bit his bottom lip. “...did you picture it like this?” Did he imagine getting Crowley to himself like this, he wanted to ask. Wanted to know if Aziraphale had ever pictured Crowley naked in the bath, skin flushed hot from the water and Aziraphale’s proximity?

“Oh, I’ve pictured it _many _ways,” Aziraphale confessed, voice pitched low, the sound washing over Crowley’s skin and making him shiver. Aziraphale retrieved a brush from the basket. “One of my favourites was this, though. Seeing you pampered. Being the one to do it. Getting to lavish you in my affections without holding back. The fairy tale happy ending where everything worked out; one where you might love me in return.”

Crowley wanted to sink beneath the water, heart pounding against his sternum and face a raging crimson. “I am _no one’s_ idea of a happy ending.”

“You were mine.”

Said so simply and without shame.

For the love of all things, Aziraphale might well kill him with words alone.

Fearing what he’d say if he spoke, Crowley sipped his wine.

His eyes drifted closed, and a smile touched the corner of his mouth as Aziraphale ran the brush through his hair and began to hum a forgotten melody.

They stayed like that for a long time. Crowley lounging in water that never grew cold, while Aziraphale brushed his hair until it was soft as silk and shone like fire, before braiding it with nimble fingers and practised movements.

When Aziraphale finished, he rose, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

Crowley nearly blurted for the angel to stay, stopping as Aziraphale repositioned his stool by the side of the bath. Crowley set his wine down when Aziraphale gestured for his hand.

“I almost hate to change back now,” Crowley admitted, running the fingertips of his free hand over his hair. “It would undo the majority of your efforts.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes flicked up to him, then back down as he began massaging lotion into Crowley’s hand and up the length of his arm.

“It only means I’ll have the chance to do it again in the future-- if it’s something you’d allow.”

The water stirred as Crowley shifted, careful to keep his braid out of the bathtub as he folded his other arm over the side, resting his chin so he and Aziraphale were facing each other.

“...I have a question-- since I don’t believe this is something we’ve ever talked about,” began Crowley.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever run out of things to talk about. What’s on your mind?”

To his embarrassment, Crowley blushed and dropped his gaze.

He did not doubt Aziraphale’s feelings for him. Nothing could do that. And, regardless of Azirpahale’s feelings for him, nothing would ever change Crowley’s, even had they been unreciprocated, but…

Crowley still wanted to _please _Aziraphale. In any and every way possible.

It was a near desperate desire he couldn’t pin down the cause of. Rejection issues? How Crowley showed love? Remnants of his angelic nature? Was it just who he was?

Crowley kept his eyes lowered. “Do you prefer one form over the other?”

Azipraphale’s hands on his skin stilled, and Crowley could feel the angel’s eyes on him. It made his blush burn hotter, coupled with the twisting shame that dug in like claws, exposing his throat.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale breathed, pads of his fingers touched under Crowley’s chin so their eyes met. “I don’t care what you look like or what form you take. Celestial, demonic, human, snake, male, female-- or some creative invention of your own making… I don’t care _just so long as it’s you_,” he promised, leaning in so that the last word was said against Crowley’s pliant mouth in a kiss.

Crowley tightened his grip on the lip of the bath, pressing himself against the side and making the water slosh, his heart a weighted thrumming in his chest as he chased Aziraphale’s lips. It took everything in him not to neglect the bath and twine himself around the angel. _His _angel. His angel that treated him as _beloved _and _sacred_.

Oh, Crowley would Fall a million times and swan dive into an ocean of holy water if it meant getting this happy ending for himself.

The words ‘I love you’ might as well ring his head as a shining halo. They poured from his every cell, they drew him like a magnet, like gravity, to the one he held most dear. He wanted the words to spill past his lips and over Aziraphale’s tongue like honey, wanted to write them into Aziraphale's skin with his hands and mouth and tongue and teeth. He wanted to write poems and sing hallelujahs made of the two of them.

Crowley wanted to be wed one to another and to give angelic gold new meaning.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” Crowley gasped against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. “Anything. Everything. Let me give it to you.”

“Well…” Crowley heard the smile in Aziraphale’s voice, “it might be time we finally decided on one flat or the other, instead of all the go-between.” Yellow eyes snapped open and were met with blue that crinkled at the corners. “Since I’m already remodelling the shop and still have a business to run-- _to me_\-- it makes the most sense if we were to make this--”

“_Yes_,” Crowley blurted. Promised. Begged.

The creases at the corners of Azriaphale’s eyes deepened, and he pressed a featherlight kiss to Crowley’s mouth. “You’re dripping water.”

Crowley looked down with a frown, then began turning crimson all over again to see he’d pushed himself halfway out of the tub, naked skin leaving water not only all over the floor but Aziraphale’s clothes.

Flushing magnificently, Crowley sank beneath the surface as far as he could while still able to breathe.

Aziraphale chuckled and returned to massaging lotion into his exposed hand and arm.

* * *

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it,” Aziraphale hedged as he drew his tea cup to his lips, “but I think we’re to the point we have little choice.”

Crowley stilled his cup of coffee. “That’s a reassuring way to start a conversation.”

“It is the truth.”

They were having breakfast at a tiny, hole-in-wall restaurant that was one of London’s great secrets. One of the delightful jewels that went overlooked until you really saw it, and then the warmth and familiarity kept drawing you back in.

Crowley carefully set down and withdrew his hands from his breakable ceramic mug. “There are a great many things I don’t want to talk about: direct-to-DVD Disney sequels, The Spanish Inquisition, Justin Timberlake slut-shaming Brittney Spears and her mental health being treated as entertainment for the masses. You’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me in that defensive tone, dear.” Folding his arms with a snort, Crowley turned to glare out the window, but only ended up watching Aziraphale’s reflection. He sipped his tea. “It’s about Ariel.”

Crowley blinked. “What about her?”

“Well, more precisely, it’s about Gabriel.” When he said nothing further, Crowley looked at him, frowning. Aziraphale’s expression was careworn and tired. “Coming after me was one thing. I can see how, at the time, it seemed justified--”

“The hell it was!”

“Darling, Heaven works in absolutes. _Earth _is for shades of grey. If angels disobeyed, if they went against Heaven, then they Fell. _I _went against heaven, but _didn’t _Fall, so the angels--”

“Tried to execute you twice, yeah, I know! _I was there_,” he growled, fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard he heard it crack. “And_ at no point_ did they use the _most basic logic_ to surmise that _if _you acted, but _did not_ Fall, then _God _must not have seen your actions as disobedience or an act against Heaven, but noooo--”

“Which brings us round to Ariel,” Aziraphale said calmly.

“_What about her?_”

“Several things,” he began, setting down his empty teacup. “One, what crime-- or supposed crime-- did she commit to receive such severe punishment--”

“_Torture_ isn’t _punishment_, angel,” Crowley snarled. “It’s just sadistic cruelty!”

It had taken two days for Crowley to work up the fortitude to ask Aziraphale to tell him again about the state he’d found Ariel in.

Crowley could have prepared himself for a thousand years and not been ready to hear it, to have that image of her chained down while they used hellfire to slowly burn away half her wings one feather at a time. He wasn't prepared for the knowledge her back had been in ruins, a massacre of blood and tatters of skin as though she’d been whipped to the point of flaying, but instead, it had been one slash of the knife after the other until consciousness left her.

Then they’d wait until she awoke, and start again.

Crowley had been sick after Aziraphale finished recounting the events and details.

“What _could _she have done?” Aziraphale pressed.

“_Nothing_ that warranted _that_,” Crowley hissed.

The angel inclined his head. “Exactly. If it were_ righteous judgment_, it would have been seen to and handed out, and then on to the next task. Nearly impartial. This was _cruel_. Crueller than they were with me.”

“They nearly killed you! _Would _have let you die, _were trying_ to kill you, even! They tortured you, too!”

“Yes, but I’d have died, and it would have been _over_,” he insisted, tone pressing enough to make Crowley draw back, trying to see whatever point he was leading to. “The only angel Ariel mentioned was Gabriel. His role in my… _punishment _was because he was my direct supervisor. But Ariel wasn’t in my department, so _he _wasn’t her supervisor. And he didn’t try to _kill _her. He gave her to the demons, in a place no one would come for her--”

“Ensuring it _wouldn’t _be over,” Crowley realized, blood draining from his face. The coffee in his stomach turned as cold and sour as a wet rag.

Aziraphale swallowed and dropped his gaze, giving Crowley a conflicted moment: torn between worrying for not only Ariel, but Aziraphale, and how dragging all of this up must have been affecting him when he already struggled so much.

Crowley floundered, palms out, “But _why her_? Ariel wouldn’t hurt anyone--”

“You also haven’t seen her since before the Fall--”

“Ariel. Wouldn’t. Hurt. Anyone,” he insisted. “I may not have seen her in a _million _years and I would _still _know that! She… she’s made of the wonder and curiosity you see in _children_. Gabriel used to find her a _nuisance _because she was timid and shy a-and easily intimidated. Michael and Uriel didn’t seem to notice her, at all. She used to be scared of _me_! I can’t_ tell you_ the number of times she hid and watched me create stars and galaxies, all the while thinking I-- _a freaking archangel_\-- couldn’t sense her like a child hiding behind a curtain.” He raked his hands through his hair, clutching the short strands so they pulled his scalp. “She didn’t want to be a soldier. Didn’t want to climb some corporate ladder. Didn’t want to be assigned to create… _anything_, really. She just wanted to _watch_. That was enough to fill her with more joy than I ever saw in the others. It was why I initially invited her to watch me while I worked.”

Aziraphale rested his chin on interlaced fingers, regarding him. “You looked after her as you might a child or younger sibling.”

“Yes, exactly! I took her under my wing when everyone else treated her wonder like a bother.”

Aziraphale sighed, heavy and burdened by too many lifetimes. “Then, I suppose the question becomes what could Ariel have done to make _Gabriel _think such punishment was_ warranted_… or did he only target her because he got a _taste _for cruelty.”

Crowley’s mouth twisted, expression a dark shadow not even his glasses could hide. “And why hasn’t he Fallen because of it?”

Picking at his manicured nails, Aziraphale nodded. “The only ones with answers to any of those... are Ariel, Gabriel, and the Almighty herself.”

Snorting, Crowley threw himself back in his seat. “Good luck on any of those fronts.”

“But, Crowley… what if it _isn’t _limited to just us two? What if there _have _been other angels? Or worse, what if he’s just getting started?”

Setting his jaw, Crowley tipped his head so he could meet Aziraphale’s eye. “Then I guess we fucking stop him.”

* * *

Holding out his hand, Crowley steadied Aziraphale as he stepped over the tree that had fallen across the path since their last visit to the national park.

Crowley scowled. “I cannot believe you honestly thought you could_ sneak back here_ without--”

“Darling, I did _no _such thing.”

“--thinking I wasn’t expecting it.”

Cutting him a look that held no real heat, especially not with how his lip curled at the corner, Aziraphale said, “I was not trying to _sneak _here, Crowley. I anticipated _you _wanting to come back here--”

“Me?” he echoed, Aziraphale’s hand in his as they walked through the forest of ferns and birdsong. “Why would _I_\--”

“Because you don’t give up,” Aziraphale said. “Not when it’s something that matters. Someone. Whereas she has every reason to fear angels and demons, she has a special connection to you that predates her trauma. She _might _talk to _you _if you came alone.”

Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, just like Ariel might be willing to let her guard down with the angel who _saved her _were _you _to come alone.”

Aziraphale put a hand to his chest, his smirk now a lopsided grin. “Would I dare try to come alone all the way out here? Without you? I only wished to accompany you out here.”

“Cute, angel. Very cute.”

“Thank you, darling,” Aziraphale said, false gratitude making Crowley grin.

They didn’t bother being quiet as they made their way through the forest toward the stream this time around, hoping it might draw Ariel out that much sooner.

Crowley hoped Ariel’s unease and apprehension had lessened since their last meeting. Hoped they could talk this time, for her sake and theirs.

She was the only one with answers regarding Gabriel’s actions or what the hell was going on in Heaven-- and what it would mean for everybody else going forward.

‘Stupid’ Gabriel wasn’t.

A cold, calculating bastard, on the other hand…

Physical well-being aside, Crowley was as concerned for Ariel as he was for them.

He and Aziraphale were still dealing with what happened last time, and they’d gotten off _comparitively _unscatched-- with new wings and powers, even. But some things they couldn’t heal. Some things they dealt with and tried to get past one day at a time.

Ariel had come through it missing most of the skin from her back and half her wingspan burned away by hellfire. She would never fly again.

Worse, she didn’t have someone to hold onto, a person that would both support her and hide her as she needed. No one to help her shake off the nightmares or breathe through the panic.

She no longer had a place in Heaven but had not been cast down to Hell. It was a different kind of Falling, aggressive and apathetic in one. It was an artificial and spiteful Falling.

He had no idea how she could expect to get through it alone, nor did he want her to.

Head falling back, Crowley peered at the canopy of trees overhead, the flashes and glimpses of Robin’s egg blue sky beyond.

When had angels become warped beyond recognition? They weren’t meant to be like this. It was not why God made them, not what She’d tasked them with.

Crowley once thought Heaven to be a place where time stood still. Stagnant, where nothing changed. Cogs turned as cogs did, and no one questioned anything or wondered if there was a different or better way. He’d seen it as autonomous, worker ants building kingdoms without stopping to inquire why or to what end.

And Heaven had been that once. Beautiful, but with an impartiality that made it cold. Maybe that was why Hell was made of fire.

But as the millenia passed, Heaven reconstructed itself. It became cold in new ways, ways that meant belittling and beating down others angels, creating hierarchies instead of equal divisions, treating their own as lesser. It was a change that meant treating humans-- humans the Almighty created, and that angels had worked to create a universe for-- as a plague to be exterminated, or a casualty of a bigger picture.

No matter what angels or demons said, Crowley did not think he and Aziraphale were the ones that were broken.

Aziraphale snatching his hand away brought Crowley back to the present, his thoughts one step behind as the angel took off running toward the end of the trail and the shoreline.

Ariel stood there looking small and frail, her arms curled to the front of her too big hoodie, as she leaned her body away from the non-descript angel in a business suit.

A snarl ripped from Crowley’s throat at the same time he shot forward, form shifting in the span of a heartbeat, hot on Aziraphale’s trail as the angel threw himself defensively in front of Ariel, arm extended to keep her behind him.

Crowley tore through the brush and sand, not feeling any of it rake against the belly of his scales as he shot out of the woods, fangs bared and jaws snapping.

The angel fell with an undignified scream of terror.

Twisting, Crowley wound himself in a circle around Aziraphale and Ariel, kicking up dirt and pebbles-- distantly aware he seemed to tower higher than before, seemed more massive-- an annoying, off-kilter feeling. It _had been_ a long time since he’d taken this form, but before, he’d never been able to breathe a stream of hellfire at an angel’s feet as they desperately screamed and flailed.

“I yield!” he shrieked, high and panicked, scurrying backwards with elbows and heels, waving an actual white flag like a mad man. “_I yield!_” Crowley drew back, hissing and exposing his fangs. The angel was nearly sobbing, curled into a protective ball with the flag clutched tight. “I yield.”

“The fire’s new,” Aziraphale commented, dryly. Crowley looked down, seeing both Aziraphale and Ariel with their heads tilted back so they could see him. “Dear, my, how you’ve _grown_.”

Wasn’t just Crowley then. Huh.

Their figures seemed to rise up to meet him as he reverted to human form, standing on Ariel’s other side. His fangs had not retracted, his eye teeth needle sharp. “Discovering new things all the time, aren’t we?” he commented, eyes fixed on the angel cowering by the stream’s edge. “_Well_?” he snapped. The angel peeked at him through splayed fingers and nearly fainted. Instinct had Crowley wanting to shake out his wings, raise them like a declaration of war, but no. He couldn’t reveal that particular trump card unless faced with the archangels themselves. The trembling ball of pure cowardice was still staring, and Crowley’s minimal patience snapped. “_Hurry up_, or I will _eat _you!”

Aziraphale said nothing, watching as the angel kicked up rock and dust in a demented flail trying to get to his feet.

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale thought he really might eat the angel, or if he’d stop Crowley from trying.

Eyes narrowed, Crowley took in the angel in from head-to-toe as they dusted themselves off. Swallowing him would be easy. The concern came in regards to whether or not he could safely _digest _an angel, or would it be like swallowing lit dynamite.

“Ahem, yes, um...” The angel patted down the front of his shirt and blazer pockets, before bending to retrieve the white flag. “Ah.”

He pressed the flag down between his palms, a turn and pull left him holding a small scroll instead. The angel opened it with little ceremony, clearing his throat and straightening his posture.

Crowley was going to bite him. Shift into his snake form and chase him into the sunset, snapping at his heels like they were in a cartoon. “Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me.”

“What is it?” wondered Ariel, face swivelling up to peer at him.

Crowley scoffed, arms folded and weight on his back foot. “It’s a blessed_ reading of the charges_ like an executioner at a hanging.”

She glared at the angel. “Shouldn’t I have been formally charged _before _being punished?”

The angel gave her a quizzical head tilt, then glanced at each of them, shoulders hunched. “I’m just the messenger. Please don’t eat me.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said lightly.

His muscles tensed. “Yeah.”

“Isn’t that _Michael’s _seal on the scroll?”

Yellow eyes flicked to the paper, the broken wax seal and the signet visible from the other side. Crowley blinked. Then blinked again. “...Security _is _Michael’s department.”

Ariel opened her mouth, and Crowley touched the back of her hand with a minute shake of his head. She regarded the messenger. “Well, then. What crimes have I been found guilty of?”

“Ariel,” he intoned, “Lion of God and Shepherd of Animals, you are hereby charged with disorderly conduct, insubordination, desertion, treason--”

“Treason?!” she demanded, voice jumping in pitch.

“--conspiring against the Host of Heaven.”

“I didn’t!” she protested, this time, the sound wet and wounded.

“For the abandonment of your post and sworn duties, for failure to report for duty, answer the call to arms, or answer summons when called on by the high courts, and for your association with fiendish criminals of the highest order--”

“I think he means us, sweetheart,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale hmphed, arms folded.

“--you are, from this moment, stripped of your rank and title. You are removed from the Host of Heaven, are henceforth excommunicated, and shall live out the rest of your days in exile on the planet Earth.”

When the angel trailed off, Crowley waited for him to continue, then baulked when he tucked away the scroll. “Wha--? That’s it? Can’t come home anymore? You’re eighteen, and we’re kicking you out? _That’s it_? Blessed boo-hoo.”

He glanced at Ariel.

Her bottom lip was quivering, and tears hung precariously on her lashes. “I didn’t want to go back, and after… after…. I knew they wouldn’t let me back, but somehow hearing it…” She blinked, and the tears spilt over. She hastily wiped them away on the sleeve of her hoodie, thin fingers curling over the cuffs that nearly passed her fingertips.

Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she flinched violently. He winced and withdrew, palms open. “It makes it real,” he sympathized.

Jaw jutted to the side, Crowley rolled his head around to peer over his glasses at the unnamed angel. “Oi. You.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “The archangel Gabriel _is _still Messenger of God, is he not?” The angel hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking between them as if afraid of the wrong answer. “Then should it not be _his job_ to hand out Michael’s judgments?”

He swallowed. “I just do what I’m told.”

“Problem with your whole lot, you ask me.”

“Not that it ends well if you don’t,” Ariel commented.

Aziraphale tilted his head, eyes on the spot where the angel tucked the scroll into his coat pocket. “And given that dealing with, er, rogue angels is directly under _Michael’s _domain, it’s safe to assume excommunication and exile are the extent of punishment to be doled out? Nothing further?”

He straightened and shook his head. “Nothing further. You have turned your back on Heaven, and now Heaven turns its back on you. Is that not enough?”

“Plenty,” answered Ariel, voice soft and gaze down cast.

Crowley frowned as something in her hood seemed to move, but then he felt the other angel prepare to take flight. “One more thing,” Crowley insisted, pushing his glasses up on to his head as he narrowed his eyes, a sharp smile cutting across his features. “Please deliver a message to the archangel Gabriel-- preferably in the presence of the other archangels, but _especially _Michael.”

“W-what’s the message?”

“If he ever takes_ one step _out of Heaven again,_ if he harms another angel_\-- directly _or _indirectly, then I will return the favour _tenfold_, before ripping his wings from his back and handing him over to Hell _where he belongs_.” The anger shifted into a smirk. “And if Michael asks_ why_\-- even if she _doesn’t_\-- tell her we offer to parlay _once_, and _only once_, to explain. Capiche?” The angel nodded so fast and hard it was a wonder he didn’t rattle his head right off his shoulders. Crowley waved him away. “Off with you, then.”

When it was just the three of them, Crowley turned, regarding the blonde whose hair was closer to the colour of honey than to Aziraphale’s dandelion fluff.

“Ariel,” he drawled, head tilted as he considered the hood pushed back off her head, “what have you got there?”

Aziraphale moved to stand beside him, admitting, “I was wondering that myself.”

She hunched her shoulders, green eyes flicking between them as her defenses came up.

Crowley got it. The conflict of not trusting _anyone _while being faced with someone you _wanted _to put your trust in. He and Aziraphale had both gone through a lot of that in the early centuries of their friendship. Moments when feelings contradict one another, what you know to be true versus your better judgment.

What it always came down to was the choice between doing as someone else told you or throwing caution to the wind to see what happened.

Her response was not the one he expected. “You’re... together, aren’t you?” She looked between them. “Like, together-together.”

Uncomfortable pricks of heat rushed Crowley’s face, and he drew back, words dying in his throat. He cast a glance at Aziraphale, their eyes meeting. A similar flush coloured the angel’s cheeks.

“Are you excommunicated, too?”

Crowley squawked, head whipping around. “Where have _you _been?”

“_America_?” she countered, voice sardonic.

“Er, y-yeah, alright, that’s a good reason to be out of the loop.”

Crowley had to give it to her, she’d clearly grown up some since he’d last seen her.

He hooked a thumb at Aziraphale. “We helped stop the Apocalypse and thwart The Great Plan.”

“I-it was mostly Adam, uh, really,” Aziraphale said. “The, uh, well, Antichrist.”

“Sweet kid.”

“He really is,” the angel agreed. “Very well-mannered.”

Her brows were drawn together in a mix of horror and confusion. “If that-- siding with the Adversary and Devourer of Worlds-- was meant to make me feel better, don’t _ever _give me a pep talk.”

“No!” insisted Aziraphale, hand shooting out, then withdrawing it when she flinched again. “No, no, no. _Adam’s just an eleven-year-old boy_. Raised like a _perfectly normal_ child, with _no _angelic or demonic influence whatsoever regarding his upbringing--”

“Also our fault,” offered Crowley.

“Darling, you’re _not _helping,” Aziraphale sighed in exasperation, turning to him.

He shrugged. “I mean, she’s talking to us rather than pulling a weapon, angel. That’s progress already. And aren’t you the one against lying and all that? Best policy or some such?”

“So you _are _together,” Ariel stated.

Crowley slid her a look. “Well, I haven’t deflowered an angel, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Crowley!” squawked Aziraphale.

“Not yet, anyway,” he added, grinning as he preemptively danced out of the way of the swat that accompanied another scandalized rebuke.

Crowley hissed giggles as Aziraphale spluttered indignant remarks about propriety and impressions and--

“This is Danger Noodle,” Ariel said. They stopped in their bickering to look at her where she pointed her index finger over her shoulder. The head of a white ball python poked up out of her hood, tongue flicking out before he stretched forward to bump his nose to her fingertip. She slid her hands back into the pockets of her hoodie. “You met last time.”

The ornate white spear.

All of Crowley’s breath left him in a rush. “I… uh… that’s… well, _fuck_.” It said a lot that Aziraphale didn’t correct him. “That’s a damn celestial familiar!” He gestured to the white python while offering a grin to Aziraphale. “I _do _like that it’s a snake.”

“You would,” sighed Aziraphale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought there was only one celestial familiar in history, though. The one given to Michael as the first angel, and that later died in the battle against Lucifer.”

“Well, now you know of two,” she said, expression shuttered.

Crowley was under no misconception she trusted them, only that they’d won themselves a small window of time.

“Where did you even find him?” Aziraphale wondered, leaning forward to consider the white creature.

“He was a gift.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, angel, you don’t _find _living celestial weapons. They’re _granted_.” His head snapped in her direction. “You spoke to God!” Ariel pressed her lips firmly together as Danger Noodle-- and seriously, what kind of name was that for a celestial weapon, he thought, really?-- rested his head on her shoulder, black eyes fixed on them. He felt as the countdown of their remaining time rapidly sped up. “_Look_,” Crowley began, breaking out his most reasonable and coaxing tone, “I know it’s been a long time, and I know you have so many questions-- _which we will answer_\--, but I think it would be best if you came back with us--”

“No.”

“Ariel, _sweetie_\--”

“_No_.”

“What are you going to do, then?” he challenged, arms sweeping out to the forest and stream. “Spend eternity living alone in the woods? Become the next cryptid? You can’t live like that!”

“I’m an _angel_, not a _human_,” she countered, voice calm and soft, but a spark of green fire in her eyes. “I very well _can_.”

“‘Can’ doesn’t mean ‘should,’” he threw back.

Aziraphale laid a hand on his chest, the touch cooling Crowley’s anger and making him look at the angel.

Aziraphale peered up at him. “Crowley, dear, I know how you get when you're protective, but I’ve also known you for the past six-thousand-years. She’s known us for about five minutes.”

“Yes, but--”

“It’s called an _impasse_, darling.”

He scowled. “I blessed know what an impasse is, angel. Doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

“I don’t like it either, but you can’t blame her, can you?”

Lips pinched, Crowley yanked his gaze away, glaring at the water bubbling over and around rocks. “She’s not safe out here on her own.”

“I’m sure her new, erm, _friend _might disagree with you,” Aziraphale reassured, slipping his hand into Crowley’s and squeezing. “Which might be _why _she was given it, to begin with.”

He sighed in defeat. “I don’t want to hear _one _word about ineffability or mysterious ways, do you understand, angel? _Not one word._” He gave Ariel a look. “When did _you _get so stubborn?”

The first hint of a smile touched her lips. “I had a teacher once who always insisted I never let anyone make me do something I didn’t want to.”

He dropped his gaze with a huffed laugh.

His best ideas always did come back to bite him in the ass.

“Alright, fine,” he groaned. “We’ll leave-- but don’t think that means we won’t check in!”

She inclined her head, a hint of a smile at both corners of her mouth now. “If you call out, I might even answer.”

Aziraphale handed her one of his business cards. “You are always welcome to come find us. If you want, we can help get you set up in London. Or even get you back to America.”

She took the card. “Thank you.”

Scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt and having no excuse to linger, Crowley headed for the trail with a sigh. Raising a hand, he hesitated long enough for her to see it and move if she chose, before laying it on her head to ruffle her hair just like he used to.

“See you around, Ariel.”

Aziraphale’s hand slipped into his as they stepped onto the trail.

Crowley slotted their fingers together, thumb stroking the angel’s.

“Raphael,” Ariel called, and he turned. She bit his bottom lip and amended, “_Crowley_. It was good to see you again. I _did _miss you.”

“You’re welcome to come find me anytime, kid.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

She nodded, a tear spilling over her lashes as she offered a wobbly smile.

* * *

The bell above the door to the shop rang as Aziraphale saw the last customer out, turning over the locks and sign with a sigh.

Removing his green apron and tossing it on the counter, Crowley snapped his fingers so the classical Christmas music cut off and the brooms and feather dusters came out to start their work.

“Not so easy,” Crowley teased, “running a proper bookshop with regular hours, is it?”

Aziraphale reached back to untie his apron. “I do still fight the urge to chase people off, yes. You’d think it would be something I’d have gotten used to after a few months. Private collection on the second floor, books for sale on the ground floor.” Coming forward, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you so much for helping me run the shop today, what with both Jack and Emma out sick.” He looked at the soft snowfall outside. “I’m so glad humans have vaccines now. Some new epidemic every year was horrible.”

“Well, it’s not like you can just miracle them both better.” Crowley pointed at Aziraphale, eyes narrowed, but wrinkling at the corners with a smile. “I don’t don an apron for just anyone, sweetheart.”

“I _could _miracle them better, I suppose,” considered Aziraphale, finger to his mouth, before sliding Crowley an impish look, “but I _do _like the sight of you wearing an apron and stocking bookshelves.”

A lascivious smile spread across Crowley’s lips. “_Do you now?_” he purred, whole body a sensuous movement as he closed the space between them.

Blushing pink, Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, _you_.”

“No, no, angel, I think this is something we need to _explore_.”

Aziraphale laughed as Crowley wrapped his arms around him, lips to his throat and smiling. “You are _incorrigible_!”

Crowley lifted his head, grinning. “You love me.”

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed, voice dropping to something soft as he tilted his chin up. “_Very_ much.”

Still smiling, Crowley lowered his head, covering Aziraphale’s lips with his own. “Let’s go upstairs, angel. I’ll put on the kettle and make you cocoa.”

“Oh, _well_,” chirped Aziraphale, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Crowley’s nose, “don’t have to tempt me twice.”

They turned, hand-in-hand, toward the stairs.

There was a knock at the door.

“We’re closed,” Crowley called over his shoulder.

The knock came again, a touch hesitant.

Crowley growled, and Aziraphale patted his arm. “None of that, now,” he chided, brows drawing together. “Something may well be wrong.”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley stepped toward the door. “Let’s hope not, and I can just scare them off quickly.” He winked over his shoulder. “For old time’s sake.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You old serpent.”

Crowley unlocked and yanked open the door, letting in a biting gush of cold air and a few stray snowflakes. “We’re closed for the even--” the words died on his tongue, jaw falling slack.

Swathed in a sweater, coat, and scarf, pink pastry box in her hands, Ariel tilted her head, peering up from beneath her beret and wearing an anxious expression.

“Hi,” she said weakly.

“...Hi.” He felt like the breath had been punched out of him. Where were the instructions? What step came next?

“Dear?” questioned Aziraphale, hand tentatively on the small of his back as he peered around him outside. He jolted. “Ariel!”

Wide green eyes stared at them like she was ready to bolt. Relatable AF, Crowley thought. She licked her bottom lip. “I… uh…”

“It’s cold,” Crowley said. Her gaze swiveled to him. “Would you like to come inside?”

She thrust the pink box out in front of her. “We brought cupcakes,” she blurted.

“How lovely!” exclaimed Aziraphale, accepting the box while Crowley eyed her scarf and the snake companion undoubtedly tangled inside or wrapped around her neck. “And we were just about to put on the kettle!”

Peace-offering accepted, she looked less ready to bolt, and more like the shy angel Crowley remembered from so very long ago.

He waved a hand, stepping back to further open the door. “Would you like to come inside for tea or cocoa?”

Bravery renewed, Ariel drew herself up to full height, offering a small, but genuine smile as she stepped across the threshold into the bookshop.

“Yes, please.”

Crowley smiled and shut the door. “Party of three it is, then.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please remember to always properly feed and water your fanwork creators: like, comment, kudos, reblog (and tag), and rec their fics/gifs/graphics/artwork/podfics/vids/other works to your friends. You may think they probably get praise already, but I promise you they don't. And certainly not enough. Small things will make their day and WEEK. If you're reading a fic/comic, watching an edit, admiring art, or something else, be it for the first time or the fiftieth, whether it's new or they posted it 10+ years ago, let the creator know.


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